Weight of History
by gaffer42
Summary: Exploration is always the name of the game, and there's a perfectly good spaceship just waiting to be used...but what's causing the mysterious illness? As usual, plenty of team fun and McKay whumping. Now with new paragraph breaks.
1. Chapter 1

With thanks to Nebbyjen and Talberts for being amazing betas, through multiple versions and drafts.

With thanks to the mad Australian Derry who can redesign a nanovirus a single email (kinda like leaping a tall building with a single bound, but not.)

With thanks to the cast of SGA, who seem like real people, with real foibles, and are so much fun to write.

Don't own them, just writing for my fun and the enjoyment (one hopes) of my friends.

Weight of History 

The lights from the approaching jumper flickered in the warm drizzle.

Elizabeth watched it approach - another flying lesson concluded, she knew, with Sheppard coaching yet another nugget through the basics of the technology. She'd been aboard for one or two of the lessons herself, as they were conducted on the regular runs to the mainland, and the Lieutenant Colonel's patience was surprising. His nerves were steady, his attitude calm, and when she'd made observation of it, he'd merely grinned and pointed out wryly that he'd taught McKay to fly, and anything after that was easy.

Now there were at least twenty new people on Atlantis, gene therapy or inborn ability intact, ready to learn. Surprisingly, none of the X302 pilots with the gene had volunteered to learn, not yet. They seemed to view the Jumpers as little more than Winnebagos, never mind the superior firepower and ease of flight systems. Sheppard had confided plans to her for a simulated dogfight, which she had kyboshed for now.

She sighed, watching the dim glow make the approach and drop through the top hatch. If one squinted and looked a bit askance, it could be seen as a candle, being extinguished.

She swung around the desk in her room and slid into the chair, staring blankly at the unfinished report. The cursor blinked serenely, though serenity escaped her.

Going back to earth…it was supposed to be triumphant. She had keenly anticipated speaking to O'Neill, to Simon, starting up a new stage of what she felt now had to be the colonization of Atlantis. But O'Neill was gone, and Landry was there instead. Caldwell bucked hard for the top military spot on Atlantis, but there, at least, she - and Everett, she'd later learned - had prevailed.

It wasn't logical to assume he'd dropped this most recent bombshell just to get back at her. It was too petty, and she knew Caldwell - though irritating and obstinate - was, at the least, not petty. But it was going to be hard to deal with, anyway.

"Need to know." At least she was considered in that august company, at least Caldwell hadn't kept that little tidbit from her. But only she and Caldwell had that dubious distinction, and she couldn't tell the two people she trusted most - Sheppard and McKay.

"I hope I'm not interrupting."

She'd been polite, 'Of course not, come in, Colonel.' He'd made some small comments about the city and the damage from the Wraith attack, and then came down to it.

"SGC has reason to believe that we have been, or will be, infiltrated by Goa'uld agents."

It had floored her. She'd recovered rapidly, of course, it was part of her talents that she wasn't ever thrown completely off, and her next question had been, logically, what if Caldwell was the Goa'uld, to which he'd shrugged and told her she'd have to trust him. But he'd expanded the comment, and told her that he'd been under surveillance, as had she, from the instant they'd returned to Earth to the instant they'd boarded Daedelus .And if she wanted to verify that, she could contact Earth through the communications drone they'd set up in the SGC control room.

Goa'uld. She'd met them before, when they were a power in the universe. They still were, she knew. A rat fought most fiercely when cornered. But without their Jaffa, and their slaves, and their ships, espionage seemed a logical next step.

She had nodded, and said she understood, and the Colonel had performed that little half-nod, not quite a salute but still something of respect, repeated that they could be the only two who knew, until more data appeared, and taken his leave.

And she'd watched the jumper approach, thoughts dark as the candle, pinched out.

xxxxxx

"Space ship." McKay didn't even look up from his laptop as Sheppard strode in.

Sheppard stopped. "What?"

"You were coming to ask why I'd pass up the chance to join you and Teyla and Conan on your trip to P2R hotter-than-Toronto-in-summer."

Sheppard perched on the lab stool across the table from him, irked.

"First, it's Ronon - he's joined the team, be polite. Second, how'd you know it was me? And third, how'd you know what I was gonna ask? That's just..." he floundered a second, "weird."

He held up a finger as something else occurred. "Fourth, what d'ya mean, Toronto in summer? You don't know heat up there."

McKay was staring at him, failing to conceal the 'are you nuts' expression.

"In order, then - I'll try, given the damage he could inflict on me; your step is distinctive and alarmingly we've known each other long enough I recognize it; you're just coming from the briefing I didn't have to attend, you would undoubtedly have noticed my absence; and what do you mean I don't know heat? 38 C that feels like 46 because it's so humid. That's hot."

"38? Water freezes at 32 F, McKay. You know that, being a denizen of the Great White North." But Sheppard was grinning as he said it, and McKay contented himself with a withering look.

"Ah, Robert and Douglas MacKenzie. Part of the Canadian plan to take over, not by force, but by guile."

At Sheppard's snort, he smirked, but turned pensive. "I grew up with Fahrenheit, though. I'm guessing 32 would be cold to a California boy like you. I bet it doesn't hit that even in that season you laughably call winter. Winter." he said thoughtfully. "Know how long it's been since I've been in a real winter? No winter here. I miss it." He sighed, attention diverted again. "Besides." He went back to the laptop. "Spaceship. I get to go on the Daedelus, exploring nearby planets without gates."

"Caldwell's 'backyard ' expedition."

"Have to admit it makes sense," McKay muttered, writing something on his notepad. "We hop through the gate, through the galaxy, and we've never checked out the local solar system."

He looked up again, excited. "How many habitable planets are there that the Ancients never put gates on, and why? This is just the first trip, and I don't know that a week's gonna be enough. Maybe with Hermoid's scanners, though..."

Sheppard interrupted by standing. "I know, I know. Greatest human achievement, shining example of interspecies co-operation, blah blah."

He saw McKay eye him. "Don't go thinking you're staying on that thing permanently, though, you're still on my team."

McKay grinned. "I'm touched. But at least on Daedelus there's a good chance I won't step into a giant puffball."

Sheppard waved a hand. "But it was such a fetching shade of blue. And it exploded so neatly over you…"

McKay snorted and bent to his work again, and Sheppard wandered toward the door.

"We're off in twenty, so see you when you're back. Try not to blow anything up, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. Go have fun. Avoid pointy sticks."

xxxxxx

"Dr. McKay!" Hermoid sounded almost testy, and Caldwell half turned his head. An annoyed Asgard was a headache he wanted to avoid. On the other hand, McKay was the only human he'd met who seemed capable of matching wit with the grey. And there was a certain smugness about the alien he secretly wanted dispelled, a condescension that occasionally grated.

"I am fully capable of management of the power utilization program," Hermoid continued, "while in hyperspace or in normal space. I do not need - or want - your assistance."

McKay stepped back, irritably. "Well, pardon me for trying to help," he said indignantly. "I simply thought..."

"It does not interest me what you thought."

Standing firm, McKay drew himself up. "You'll find if you mirror the settings on the injectors diagonal to each other, the proton flow will be far more even than trying to match them all," he said with dignity.

Hermoid glared.

"And put some pants on." McKay muttered, turning away. Caldwell looked up at that, a small grin on his face, hearing Sheppard's influence in the comment.

Sam Carter had dropped by at his invitation, back on Earth, bringing files on the whole science team. They'd spent an interesting afternoon going through them, and then taken the discussion out to a steakhouse frequented by personnel from the mountain - in as much as they frequented anywhere. In public, the discussion was far more general, but it was also more geared toward the personalities of those involved.

'Kavanagh.' He'd say a name, she'd come back with a summary.

'Excellent at what he does, but if I were choosing a team I wouldn't put him on it. Doesn't adapt well to a non-structured environment. You'll have a lot of complaints from him, I suggest you listen selectively.'

'Zelenka.' She'd grinned. 'He has a wicked sense of humour, and he's able to merge theory and practical applications as well as anyone I've met. If there's a still on the city, you can bet he's running it. I like him.'

'Zhyang.' he'd said, and she'd frowned slightly. 'Nice enough, but very quiet. Smart, good at her job, but needs to come out of her shell.'

'McKay.'

There had been an unexpected silence. He'd looked up to see her staring into the distance, an unreadable expression on her face. 'Something I should know?'

'You think you know someone, Stephen. Then you start reading the reports...' she'd stopped, saw him watching her.

'Things I never thought I'd say about him.' she'd said. 'Genius, for certain, and everything that goes with it. But he's found bravery, ability to think on his feet, ability to make friends - he's dating, of all things. He's on Sheppard's team, and I've heard they're as tight as SG1.' She'd grinned. 'Still whines and complains, but some things never change.'

"Colonel?" Danez's voice intruded on his thoughts.

He sat up, glancing at the navigator's position. Much as it pained him to admit, whoever had designed the long-ago Starship Enterprise had gotten an awful lot right, the stations on the bridge of the Daedelus mirrored the layout of the old television ship to an uncomfortable - almost embarrassing - degree.

"Energy signature, sir. On the moon ahead."

Chapter 2 

The urge to call it an 'Away Team' was hard to resist, but somehow McKay managed.

"Military reports to Major Latham, science to me. Touch nothing until it's been cleared by one of the science team. This is a military mission," and how hard was that to say, Sheppard would've been proud of him, "but our business is the science."

He looked around. New faces, mostly, he hadn't managed to winkle Zelenka out of the lab, but as he scanned their faces, he knew their specialties - if not their names. He was missing something. What was it Sheppard would do...right.

"Keep your wits down there, folks. Watch each other's backs, don't assume, keep your eyes open. You're all the best at what you do, or you wouldn't be here." He caught sight of Caldwell, grinning slightly, over the heads near the back, and clapped his hands once.

"Ten minutes, in the mud room."

They dispersed, chattering, but he was pleased to see scientists and soldiers mingling.

"Well done, Doctor," Caldwell said, approaching. From habit, he listened for any hint of sarcasm, but there was none.

It flustered him a bit, but, "Thanks," he managed.

"Sheppard's rubbing off on you."

Secretly pleased, he raised a brow. "Oh, please, Colonel. If anything, it's the other way around."

Rather than irritation, he heard an edge of amused tolerance in the wry response.

"I wouldn't be surprised, Doctor," Caldwell grinned and turned away.

Alone for a moment, McKay heaved a sigh. It tickled his lungs and turned into a cough. A slight one at first, but it didn't satisfy the irritation and he began to cough harder. His balance began to waver and he grabbed the back of the nearest chair, swinging it around and sinking into it, trying to breathe while continuing to cough, until his eyes were watering and his ears rang from the effort.

The tickle eased. Finally, he could take a breath when the cough subsided. He wiped his eyes, relieved. That was all he needed, he thought sourly, a cold the day he was to lead his first mission.

Tentatively he tried another sigh, but whatever had triggered the bout had apparently been satisfied, and he pulled himself together. Three minutes till he was due in the mud room, the room where the Asgard beam technology was based. It had been christened by a farm boy from Saskatchewan who decided it was, after all, the back door to the ship. And that was where the working folk came in.

xxxxxx

"Leave the channel open," Caldwell reminded.

"Yes, sir," Latham replied over the link.

Caldwell settled into his command chair, listening with half an ear. It was odd, hearing the conversations without having the visual cues, but he'd learned to let the chatter wash over him, picking out the most important stuff.

He pulled up some of the reports he'd been neglecting. He focused briefly on the audio for the report that power had been restored to the complex, and again, when a small tremor was reported. There was no real worry in the voices, though, and he went back to work.

Another, slightly stronger quake caused a bit of consternation, and brought his focus back again.

"Report," he stated.

"Less than 2 on the Richter scale." It was Darin, a geological technician from California, and Caldwell relaxed. The man knew quakes.

"We're carrying on, Colonel." That was McKay's voice, steady and confident, and Caldwell nodded.

"Very well."

There was nothing of concern for some time, and he was working steadily through the backlog, when the edge of worry in McKay's voice caught his attention. He glanced at the mission clock. They'd been down almost fifty minutes.

He leaned forward, toggling the com. "McKay?"

"Just a minute, Colonel. Latham, keep everyone out, I need to check the status of this."

"Yes, sir."

There followed a period of silence, entirely too long for Caldwell's comfort.

"McKay..."

The scientist's voice came again, but he wasn't talking to the ship.

"Everyone out, right now. Everyone! Drop what you're doing and get back to where we came in." A pause. "No, just drop it and move!"

The tone was unmistakable. Urgency warred with fear, but whatever was happening, Caldwell had to admit McKay was keeping his cool. He turned to Hermoid, but the question didn't need to be asked.

"Ready for emergency retrieval, sir," the Asgard said evenly.

"Daedelus, this is McKay. All present and accounted for, request immediate transfer."

Caldwell nodded once, not bothering to reply, and again Hermoid answered before he could ask.

"Team has been retrieved. All are on board."

Caldwell stood. "Danez, you have the con."

xxxxxx

The mudroom was full of excited, irritated voices, and Caldwell's arrival silenced none of them.

"Doctor?" he demanded of a harried looking McKay.

The Canadian nodded, raising his voice.

"There's a good reason I pulled us out, but I have to report to the Colonel first," he said to the others. "We're not going back right away, so compile the data and have an overview for me in three hours. We'll reconvene then. Military, this includes you, if you're not on duty. I want input from everyone."

The noise died off to muttering, and Caldwell let them file out past him, then turned to McKay. He took a good look, then stepped towards him, concerned at his pallor and shakiness. It appeared he'd held it together for his team, but there was clearly something going on, something that had deeply alarmed the physicist.

"Sit before you fall down." he said, gesturing to a bench, and McKay complied. He was almost panting, breathless, and Caldwell waited till he got his breathing under control again, knowing if something immediately urgent had occurred McKay wouldn't have bothered ordering the data report from the others.

Finally, McKay coughed once, and then again, held his breath a moment, sighed.

"Sorry. Reaction."

"To what?" Caldwell joined him on the bench.

"It's called fear, Colonel." McKay's tone was sharp. "I know you soldier types have it bred out of you, but us poor scientists..." he trailed off, evidently out of breath.

"I've read your record, McKay. Despite your carefully cultivated reputation as a coward, it tells me a different story."

McKay glanced at him disbelievingly, but he saw the seriousness on Caldwell's face and blinked, surprised.

"If it scares you, I'm thinking the rest of us should be terrified. What is it?" he prodded.

"You've gone over the reports from last year." McKay said.

Caldwell nodded.

"That was a weapons laboratory down there. One of the labs was developing a nanovirus. Looked too much like the one we dealt with before."

As Caldwell frowned, he hastily added, "There's no chance of infection. The labs have the same protocol as Atlantis, and the complex was on its own power, so the sensors were working. Any pathogen would have triggered a lockdown."

Caldwell nodded, accepting the logic.

"Now that I'm over the shock, though, I think we should take a team back down. I got a lot of information off the database, but as soon as I realized what we were into, I pulled us out. I didn't want to take a chance, not without proper precautions."

"And what would those precautions be?"

"Full medical, hazmat, isolation procedures. Specialists. Thing is, there were other things under research, too. And I'm pretty certain the other half of the complex had a Zed P M construction area."

At Caldwell's look of disbelief, he nodded. "It looks like this outpost was designed to be as self sufficient as possible. We have to get a team together, Colonel. This could have major consequences."

Caldwell couldn't restrain a sigh.

"Enormous consequences. Especially if the material falls into the wrong hands."

"Wrong hands?"

"What I'm about to tell you, Doctor, can go no further."

McKay narrowed his eyes. "I'm not going to like this, am I?"

Honesty always served well. "No, you're not." He leaned against the wall, dropping his head back against the ridged metal.

"We have it on good authority that we've been compromised. The SGC, the Atlantis mission, everything."

"What?"

"We have had, or will have, a Goa'uld spy infiltrate our personnel."

McKay snorted. "Right. They have so much time, after finding enough to eat, someplace to sleep, somewhere to stay where people won't kill them..." he trailed off, and Caldwell could almost see him making the connection. "Holy crap. Of course they'd want to spy on us."

"And Ancient technology would be something worth stealing. Particularly something that kills humans. Combine that with the gene therapy that Dr. Beckett developed, and you have a perfect weapon."

"What precautions have been taken? Has Sheppard found anyone of interest?" It sent him down a different line of thought. "And why didn't he mention it, anyway? Does he think I'm a Goa'uld?" He frowned, thinking something, but not saying it.

"Doctor."

McKay looked up, concern etching lines on his face. "Do you think I'm a Goa'uld?"

"No." The firm statement erased some of the worry. "Neither does Sheppard."

"You're certain."

"Absolutely. Because he doesn't know about this."

Worry became disbelief. "He doesn't? You haven't told him?"

"You've worked with the military long enough to understand 'need to know', haven't you, Doctor?"

McKay shook his head. "Unfortunately, yes, but you're cutting your self off from one of your best sources by not telling him." His jaw dropped as something else occurred to him.

"Tell me you don't suspect him."

"Truthfully, I suspect everyone, even you. But I need you to understand why we're not going back. And if you are the spy, and you try to kill me, why then," and he grinned "our problems will be over."

"Not a joke, damn it! So who have you told? Who has the Caldwell seal of approval? "

He let the last name slide. "I told Dr. Weir. You know. And that's all. That's how it will remain until something changes." He frowned. "Sheppard will be told when he needs to know."

McKay barked a laugh. "Needs to know. Great. Maybe when some damn System Lord has him at the business end of a ribbon device, he'll need to know then. This is nuts, you know that? The head of the military for Atlantis doesn't know there're possibly spies in his population?"

"No. He doesn't." Caldwell stood, and McKay stood with him, glaring, jaw set. "And he will not find out from you." McKay turned his head a bit, and Caldwell stepped around, maintaining eye contact. "He will NOT," he repeated. "Is that clearly understood, Doctor McKay?"

McKay didn't look away, but after a moment he nodded slightly.

"I can't hear a nod." Caldwell knew he was pushing it, but he also knew McKay.

"Yes, Colonel. It is understood." He almost spat the words.

"Good." Consciously, Caldwell took a half-step back, defusing the confrontation. "Now you go see the medic. You still look winded."

"Am I dismissed, then, Colonel?" Sarcasm was in the tone, but Caldwell took the words at face value, understanding. McKay and Sheppard were tight, and keeping secrets - especially of this sort - went against the physicists very being.

"You don't need to ask, Doctor. You're a civilian, after all."

The granite jaw got firmer, if that were possible, and McKay stalked out without another word.

Caldwell sank down on the bench again. "Could'a gone better," he muttered.

Chapter 3 

McKay lay in his cabin, staring at the ceiling.

The meeting had not gone well. The military knew the chain of command, and if Caldwell said they weren't going, it was orders. They might not agree, but there was no questioning.

The scientists, on the other hand, made a business of questions. It meant he'd had to do some fast talking, downplaying information, making deliberately erroneous connections, all to make it seem as if there was no reason to go back. The deliberate lies were making him ill and he knew it; he was sweating, coughing, and felt miserable.

When he'd been assigned the space originally, one of only six cabins to have a view of the stars passing, he hadn't moved from the port for a long time. Stargazing from a faster than light spaceship had been better than he'd dreamed it could be, and far better than the weeks he'd spent in crew quarters, two to a cabin.

They'd set off during Atlantis's evening, Caldwell had been clear about having two uninterrupted hours - meaning without an audience - after departure to get underway, so he'd made his way to his quarters, dropped his bag, and spent the whole time staring out the window. The beginning of the trip, the thrill of potential, a fast ship and a star to steer her by…

Now, instead, staring at an unchanging ceiling, he tried to adjust to the news. First, the Goa'uld. Here. In the Pegasus galaxy. Second, third and fourth all mixed together. Spies. Secrets. Sheppard.

And that thought made him sick. Sharing a body with Cadman had been hard, and she was at least human. It would make sense, if a System Lord wanted to take a new host, to find someone powerful on the mission to inhabit. It wouldn't be Weir; she didn't spend enough time off planet. It wouldn't be one of the techs; they had no generalized access to anything of interest. That left Beckett, himself, and Sheppard. The way Caldwell was playing it, it was clear to him that the man suspected Sheppard the most.

"Oh, hell." he said, rolling over. Not Sheppard, not Beckett, not anyone he knew, but mostly, selfishly, and please God, not Sheppard.

He sat up. Sleep wasn't coming, he knew, and they were still hours from Atlantis, so he pulled his laptop to him. Coughing slightly, he called up all the research on removing a Goa'uld from a host.

xxxxxx

It was something small, but it was still odd.

They'd stepped through the gate, tanned and relaxed, with a glow of satisfaction that came from a perfectly executed mission. They'd been ten days away, and he knew Daedelus had been back for four.

It wasn't that he'd expected a welcoming committee. Weir had been there, and the gateroom control team. They'd been greeted, unloaded, quickly de-briefed.

They'd been examined. Fed. Washed. Napped. His thundering headache had faded.

And there had been no word from McKay.

Rodney was on Atlantis, they knew that. The mission had, evidently, found nothing major worth pursuing, they knew that too. But the behaviour was unlike the physicist, and they found it irksome.

Sheppard, more than the rest. He finished stripping and oiling his weapon, stored it, and

headed out to hunt the elusive Canadian.

xxxxxx

Naturally, the first place to check was the lab. Uncharacteristically, for this time, it was empty - not that it was too late, it was evening after all, but McKay spent little time away from his second home.

He turned, catching sight of Zelenka wandering towards him.

"Seen Rodney?" he asked when the Czech was in range.

Zelenka shook his head. "You find him, you smack him, ok?" He was clearly annoyed.

Sheppard wasn't surprised, annoyed was moderately standard for the scientist when dealing with McKay, but this went a bit beyond.

"Ok. No problem." He paused a moment, "Why?"

"Miscalculation. Tell him if he touches my laptop again…" he trailed off into Czech. "Never mind. I tell him myself."

"How'd that happen?"

"He works all day, and all night, and all day again. Some secret task, won't tell us, won't ask for help. Won't talk much at all."

"Doesn't sound like Rodney," he mused aloud, and the truth of it made Zelenka's expression change.

"This is right." he said, slowly, and true to his mercurial character the irritation morphed to concern. "I was simply appreciating quiet, did not realize what it meant." He looked at Sheppard, and the annoyance had changed to worry. "You find him."

He nodded, feeling uneasy. It had started as a small thing, but it seemed to mean a lot more than he originally thought.

xxxxxx

"Always the last place you look," he muttered, standing outside McKay's quarters. He knocked twice, waited, knocked twice more.

No response.

"Heck with it," he said aloud, and opened it.

McKay didn't turn. He was absorbed in something on his laptop, and Sheppard was almost directly behind him before he noticed. That, in itself, was worrying.

"Hey."

McKay jerked around and Sheppard stepped back, as much recoiling from the naked fear he saw on his friends face as anything. The scientist froze, staring at him for a second, before forcing a laugh, covering for his reaction.

"You startled me! Jeez, don't do that."

Sheppard shrugged. "You didn't open the door."

"Sorry. Research." When Sheppard leaned over to see for himself, McKay closed the screen, but whatever it was, it had the SGC logo on it.

"Listen, we missed you when we came back. Well, Teyla missed you." he amended, grinning. "We're having dinner in a bit. Join us."

McKay looked down at his laptop, but Sheppard shook his head.

"Whatever it is, it can wait. We haven't hung out in almost two weeks."

Still, McKay hesitated, and Sheppard had the oddest feeling his friend was afraid of something.

"Now," he said firmly, and McKay nodded quickly.

"Okay, okay. We'll talk, huh? You, me, Teyla and Ronon."

"Right."

"Let me change my shirt." McKay grabbed a shirt from a pile and vanished into the washroom. As soon as he was out of sight, Sheppard opened the laptop.

McKay had been researching the Goa'uld.

He knew, in a vague way, about the System Lords, the Jaffa, and the rest.

Why would McKay be researching it, here on Atlantis? And why was he so edgy?

xxxxxx

The walk to the mess hall was odd. McKay kept up a running patter, eyes bright. He was sweating, though the city was cool, and he waved his hands even more, not permitting Sheppard a word edgewise. It was classic scared-McKay-covering-up behaviour.

It wasn't till they got to the hall, and the fact of his relief at seeing the others was so palpable, that he realized.

McKay was afraid, all right. He was afraid of Sheppard.

xxxxxx

Dex stood, the half smile on his face, and Teyla greeted him with affection. It was old times - well, new old times - and if it weren't for the fact McKay was afraid his best friend had a snake in his head, it would have been a pleasant meeting.

He chose a tray of food, realizing finally how hungry he really was, and sat next to Dex, facing Teyla. They hadn't started their dinner yet, waiting for him and Sheppard, and they all set to with relish. Dex's manners had improved. Sheppard eyed him covertly, and, it seemed, with concern.

"So, nothing much came of the trip, huh?" Dex started the conversation.

"Unfortunately, no." And Sheppard 'hmph'ed. He knew the man could always tell when he was lying. But he didn't follow it up.

"We had a most productive expedition," Teyla said, picking up on the tension, trying to defuse it.

"Looks like. You're all practically glowing with good health." He couldn't help wishing he'd chosen another phrase. Glowing brought to mind the eerie brightness that Goa'uld possessed humans exhibited from their eyes. He wiped his forehead with a napkin, sweating. "Anyone else think it's hot in here?" he muttered, but no one commented.

"Sheppard taught me to surf," Dex said a moment later, around a mouthful of potato.

"It was amusing to watch, until the Colonel 'wiped out' and hit his head," Teyla added.

"He did? That's too bad." The food tasted like ash, and he was abruptly unable to eat another bite. He put his fork down, spat the mouthful he had into a napkin as discreetly as he could, and stood.

"I'm sorry," he said, and why was he panting like that? "I left a test running, I have to monitor it…" and it was harder and harder to get his breath. Then the cough started, and it kept going and going, and he found himself on his knees with the taste of blood in his mouth. He couldn't breathe, but his chest burned.

Then he was on his side, and Sheppard was on the comm yelling for help. He sounded alarmed. Could a Goa'uld fake it that well?

Interesting question, he decided, and one to follow up if he could ever get his breath back. His vision was going. Dimly, he felt someone lift him, and movement, and then everything went black.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 4 

Abruptly, he was awake again, breathing; cool air flowing into his lungs and he just lay there for a moment, letting it fill him, reminding him how it felt.

Beckett was looking down at with concern, and he nodded.

"Better," he said. "Carson." He couldn't get more than a few words out at a time, but he had to tell someone. "Check Sheppard." He drew another breath and held up a finger, forestalling Beckett's words.

"Check head. Goa'uld." He concentrated on breathing again, panting in the oxygen from the mask.

Beckett blinked, tilted his head.

"Rodney, there are no Goa'uld in this galaxy."

"Infiltrators. Need to know. Don't tell."

Beckett had worked with the military long enough to understand the shorthand, and he nodded.

"I understand, but Rodney, John is not a Goa'uld. I had to scan him when he returned from his most recent mission. Something about knocking himself out with an improvised surfboard."

The penetrating fear eased, and he relaxed. Sheppard wasn't a Goa'uld. His friend didn't have a snake in his head; his psyche wasn't warring with another for control…

He was embarrassed to feel a dampness sliding from the corner of his eyes, and he blinked hard.

"So that's what you were researching." Becket said slowly. "I'd heard you had a project you wouldn't share, we thought it was something from the mission. You were trying to research a way to remove it, here, on Atlantis, weren't you?"

He gave up, closed his eyes and nodded. Hours of research, trying to figure how to merge Ancient and Human technology to create something designed by the Tok'ra. And always, in the back of his mind, the memory of what a benign presence had felt like, knowing how much pain a Goa'uld could inflict on a strong willed host, terrified for Sheppard and of him, and always hot and tired and coughing. But he was safe, they were safe, John was safe…

"And Caldwell, and his need to know…damn him, anyway." The Scot sounded furious, and he shook his head.

"Don't tell," he managed. "You …trouble."

"Oh, lad, I'll give him trouble…" Beckett glanced down again, met his eyes, and nodded. "Aye, I'll keep my mouth shut. Until he deems me worthy to be told. And, so you know, I had a scan just before I left the SGC, I was a guinea pig for the new doctors coming in. It's on record, if you like."

He smiled, or tried to. The tickle had started again. The coughing returned, soon after.

xxxxxx

Beckett tried never to let worry colour his words, but for those who knew him there were signs.

Sheppard and Weir knew him well. When he appeared at the door of the waiting room, Sheppard stood, gesturing wordlessly towards his vacated chair. They'd brought McKay in only an hour ago, he'd been semi-conscious, but the deep hacking cough seemed to persist, awake or not. It had been quiet, now, for a few minutes.

The Scot sat, aiming a glance of thanks at the Lieutenant Colonel, not letting his surprise at seeing Caldwell show. Teyla and Dex were there as well, as he'd expected.

"Something has settled in his lungs," he said without preamble. "The cough is an outward manifestation of it. But from his state, he's been ill for a few days." There was a bite to his next words. "Did you not notice?"

There was an uncomfortable silence. Sheppard broke it.

"We only saw him again this evening. I had to drag him off some project to come have supper with us." He glanced at Caldwell. "Was he behaving oddly?"

"I'm sorry, Sheppard," and the tone said he really was, "but I don't know him well enough to make that determination. No one on Daedelus does."

Beckett sighed. "I know. I know. But he had to be exhibiting symptoms - shortness of breath - for a good while. Right now he's barely able to breathe, the effect is pneumonia but I haven't any idea yet what the cause is. I have some of my people trying to find out what's causing it."

"Is it communicable?" Weir asked.

"The city says no. He's been moving freely about since he returned. If it were - and I hate to rely on technology to that extent, but it's been trustworthy in the past - the lockdown would have occurred."

Caldwell's expression tightened, but he said nothing. Beckett looked at him a second, then glanced over at Sheppard and his team. "And before you ask, yes, you can see him."

xxxxxx

Winter. Cold, clean air, snow so frigid it creaked under your boots, the same sort of eerie, tooth-chilling sound that cotton batting made coming out of the aspirin bottle. Walking on a path made compact by the passage of snowmobiles, crunching over the neat pattern the tread left behind. Trees like blue veins traced on the pallid skin of a grey-clouded sky, pregnant with snow.

Or standing on the top of a mountain, a peak so tall that clouds found it a convenient place to stop and rest. And the sun, filtering through brittle branches, to turn the forest into a misty hall of glass.

Even just a city winter, rush hour stalled into bustling parking lots, fat white flakes drifting down to settle quietly on an unquiet people. Slush like a cake, creamy white frosting on top with a soft brown beneath, prime to be jumped in, spraying far and wide.

Canadian winters - Toronto, Winnipeg, Ottawa. US winters - Colorado, New York. Russian winters - St. Petersburg, Krasnoyarsk. And, Antarctica, the father of all winters.

He had never known a year without a winter. He had loathed it as a child. It was entirely too easy for bullies to force handfuls of snow down his collar, wash his face with it, hit him with rock-cored snowballs. He'd vowed, with the determination of the young, to find some way to live somewhere without winter.

He made peace with the season as he grew older, though. He learned to appreciate the beauty of it, the way a coat of white perfected even the most flawed of scenes.

Area 51 would have been a dream come true for his younger self. The boy he had been would have been pleased with the heat, the lack of snowflakes. Even there, though, he'd managed never to have to survive twelve solid months without winter - called back to the cold to lecture, assigned to special projects in freezing, isolated places, and what had seemed to be the nadir of his career - being sent to Russia, then to Siberia, then to the bottom of the world.

Then out of this world - but the chill of the wormhole was nothing compared to true cold.

Without a tilt to its axis, Atlantis had no winter, and hardly any seasons. Warm breezes each night, sun or rain but steady temperatures each morning. He remembered standing on the balcony outside the gateroom and feeling the ghost of a chill ripple along his spine - not cold, but the memory of it.

Shivering in his down coat, standing on the platform waiting for the commuter train, feeling the wind slice through even the thick material and soft insulation. He could feel it, that cold, and he was shivering hard in his mind, wishing the train would show up. Peering down the tracks, the winter day leaned in around his vision with gray slabs of cloud, snow slanting through the icy air so it was like looking through a tunnel, and there was the light from the train now…

"Rodney?"

The light disappeared and he blinked muzzily, in his mind still on the platform…no.

He was in Atlantis.

Beckett's voice, then.

He blinked again, and his vision steadied. He was in bed, and he felt terrible. Neither of which were particularly encouraging. He opened his mouth to make the observation, but something caught in his lungs and he was coughing, hard, and the pain in his ribs told him it wasn't the first time he'd coughed that way. The muscles were protesting and, against his will, he felt his eyes fill. He squinted them shut, clearing them. He tasted blood.

Beckett reset the oxygen mask; he felt tendrils of coolness brushing against his face. He tried to control his breathing, and the faintly medicinal smell helped. His throat appreciated the dampness of the mist. The cough eased, then stopped.

He risked opening his eyes again, feeling the chill of fever in his aching muscles.

Beckett smiled. "There we go. That should help."

He nodded, focussed his gaze beyond the doctor. Sheppard was there, and Teyla, and Elizabeth, and behind them all Ronon Dex loomed like a shaggy bear. Sheppard met his eyes, raising one hand in a small gesture of greeting. He blinked in response, and Sheppard let his hand rest on Teyla's shoulder, expression carefully neutral. McKay knew from the very neutrality that things were not going well. Sheppard only found it necessary to put on the 'crash test dummy' face when his own expression would give too much away.

"Hey," Rodney croaked.

"Don't talk." It was Dex, surprisingly, who rumbled the caution, but Sheppard nodded.

"You picked up a bug somewhere," he said calmly. "We're going to find the source, Rodney. Carson's going to be here with you. Don't give him too much trouble, ok?" He manufactured an approximation of his usual grin, and McKay managed a small nod in response. He was seeing the snow now, falling in front of his eyes. It started as a light dusting, progressed to a blizzard, and he succumbed to the blank whiteness with a kind of shivery pleasure.

Chapter 5 

"No, gie me everything!" Beckett tapped his comm off again, irritated. "A simple file dump from th' medical records, would'na think it would be so hard…"

"He is still speaking our language, isn't he?" Dex asked in an aside to Sheppard, who grinned slightly and nodded.

"It's the part of earth he's from. They developed their own version of English. The more irritated he gets, the thicker his accent is."

"_He_," Beckett said irritably "is standing right here. I'm going to get my lads on this lot of hogwash, but I need you to think. Whatever is affecting our man is evidently not contagious, not read by the city as something to be alarmed about, and it's causing symptoms similar to pneumonia. I think whatever it is must have been inhaled. Is there anything Rodney was exposed to that you weren't, on any of the last - say five - missions?"

"The puffball?" Dex suggested.

Sheppard nodded at the observation. "The puffball. He stepped on something and it blew some sort of spore all over him. The locals called it good luck, like having a bird crap on your shirt."

"And you didn't tell me that little bit of information?" Beckett was miffed, and Sheppard knew he had the right to be.

"It brushed off, Doc, and he didn't even sneeze."

Beckett turned his back. "I need a 'puffball' to test."

Sheppard glanced at the other two. "You'll have it."

xxxxxx

Weir had seen them off, said all the good things, been the strong leader. But now she sat, quietly, in the infirmary, listening to the hoarse breathing that told her McKay was still with them.

The coughing had eased, but that wasn't good news - it meant his lungs were getting used to being filled, that there was no longer an annoying tickle making his chest try to rid itself of the material that was clogging it. Beckett was riding herd on his technicians, desperate to find out something, anything, that could help.

And Caldwell had retreated to the Daedelus.

Something about how he was reacting to the whole issue just didn't sit well with her. She had long ago learned to listen to that little voice, and when it told her someone - though not lying - wasn't telling the whole truth, the only thing for it was to compel them to.

She squeezed the limp hand, stood, and headed to Beckett's office. There was a bit of information she needed before she confronted the commander of the Daedelus.

xxxxxx

Sheppard, Teyla and Dex had arrived with the sample, and Beckett had advised her testing was well underway. Caldwell had informed her he would be at her disposal within two hours.

It was a way of establishing his boundaries, she knew. A lesser person would have called it the opening volley in a pissing contest, but the only way to win this was to refuse to play. She declined, politely, signed off without further comment, and began the hour's trip to the ship.

xxxxxx

"It's not the source of infection, no. We found no antibodies to this material in his blood."

Sheppard stood at parade rest, and it struck Beckett he'd been half-expecting the bad news. He showed little reaction beyond a tightening of his jaw.

"Now what?"

It was a question Beckett had been dreading, and he looked steadily at the Colonel.

"We are still analyzing the nature of this. All we can do is keep him breathing, resting as comfortably as possible, and wait until the results are in. We have eliminated one source of contagion. Hoffman is supervising a team testing everything in his lab and in his room, under Dr. Zelenka's supervision."

Sheppard cut his eyes sideways, to where McKay had been lying. It had alarmed him to see the bed empty, but Beckett had assured him the physicist had simply been moved.

"I put a small ICU together. I wanted to keep him somewhat isolated, he doesn't need any further infection to make his life difficult."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Sit with him. Keep his mind engaged. That's all I can think of for now."

Sheppard closed his eyes briefly, as if in pain, then drew a deep breath. "I need to pick something up, and - tell the others. I'll be there soon."

xxxxxx

Beckett had conveyed the bad news to her on her comm, and promised to inform Caldwell. She strode out on the pier and stood a moment, holding her hand to shade her eyes, knowing they would know she was there.

Fifteen minutes later, with no contact from the ship, she called them and demanded to be ringed aboard. After a short delay, she was confronting Caldwell on his own bridge.

"I believe you are withholding information from me, Colonel. I do not believe it's in our best interest, or in Rodney's, to continue to do so."

Caldwell looked up at her, glowered. "Not the time or place, Doctor."

"I don't believe there is a better time, Colonel. As to the place…" she glanced around at the crew studiously ignoring them, "that part is up to you."

He stood. "My office."

Chapter 6 

"If it isn't the puffball, what is it?"

Sheppard hadn't expected to hear the anger in Dex's voice, and he stared at the man a second.

"I'm used to him." Ronon shrugged, and Sheppard almost grinned.

"There is nothing further we can do?" Teyla asked.

"According to Beckett, no. He assures me McKay's not contagious, and right now all he can suggest is that we sit with him."

"I'll take first watch." Dex said, but Sheppard shook his head.

"I'll do it," he corrected. "You two go and get cleaned up, have some down time. Come by in a couple of hours."

xxxxxx

"Colonel, you are keeping something from me, and I think it might have to do with what's happening to Rodney. I have to know, and I have to know now."

Caldwell seated himself, and nodded. "Agreed."

She didn't let his quick concurrence startle her, merely nodded and looked expectant.

"We found another base. A large complex, with several labs, and possibly a ZPM lab as well."

"But…"

"McKay pulled us out at short notice. He found another biolab, and evidence of another virus like you encountered before."

Weir blinked. "And you didn't consider this worth telling us?"

"A potential weapon that could wipe out all humans without the ATA gene? In the hands of the Goa'uld that could be devastating. We can't let it go further."

Weir pulled out an envelope, dropped it on the desk, spun it to face Caldwell.

"What's this?" he asked.

"Proof that Sheppard is not a Goa'uld. You have to tell him, Caldwell. Everything. Now."

xxxxxx

The scope didn't lie.

Zelenka stared at the laptop, seeing the two images side by side. Beckett had flipped the image from his microscope to the screen, and he swore softly.

"This is from Rodney?"

Beckett nodded. "Lung tissue sample. I've found a few of them, but we can't see them in his blood or sputum."

"That is like nanovirus from last year. But different."

"Absolutely." Beckett sat. "The one last year, we had the advantage of a clean sample to work from, not to mention all the information from the Ancient database, everything their researchers had already discovered about it. We knew what we were looking for. But this... I checked with the rest, and the lung tissue is the only place they've shown up."

"They're not moving."

Beckett pointed to the image, showing tiny spots on the coating of the virus. "I think these might be flawed, perhaps, nanites that never activated. The thing is, Rodney's body hasn't shown antibodies to any particular infection."

"If no antibodies…"

"…it's very hard to locate the virus. And harder still to track what it does, and near-impossible to find a cure."

Zelenka was silent for a moment. "Have done impossible before," he said finally, firmly.

Beckett dredged up a smile in response.

xxxxxx

The temporary ICU sat behind a clear, figured wall. The bright, transparent colours followed a familiar geometric style.

Caldwell caught a glimpse of himself, dimly reflected in the cerulean blue that dominated this pattern, and paused a second to, again, appreciate his presence here. How rapidly admiration turned to expectation, he thought.

A movement, and the sudden quieting of a low, constant mutter he hadn't noticed at first, made him shift his gaze to the other side. Through the colours, he saw Sheppard stand, stretch, lean over McKay. He adjusted the O2 mask, settling it a bit more comfortably, then sat and lifted the book. The muttering began again.

Caldwell took another step and found a clear spot. Sheppard was reading aloud. Squinting, he made out the title - "A Brief History of Time", by Stephen Hawking. To one side, a desk had been set up and one of Beckett's best sat there, watching the monitors.

He stepped back. Beckett had encouraged Sheppard to stay, while they continued to research, and Caldwell knew why. 'He can reach Rodney when no one else can.' the doctor had said, standing at the doorway, arms folded, deceptively composed.

Caldwell knew better. He was beginning to know these people, and the more he knew them, the more he found he respected them. 'I'm his friend,' Beckett mused aloud, 'but John is his friend and commander - in the best sense of the word. Rodney questions me, always. But he's learned, in some circumstances, to simply trust John and do what he says.'

He stood at the doorway quietly, waiting. A second later, Sheppard glanced up, alert to his surroundings, Caldwell noted with approval, even though distracted.

He met the Lt. Colonel's gaze neutrally, inclined his head toward the hall in a clear request. Sheppard nodded, closed the book and put it down. He leaned forward and retrieved his boots, put them on, and then spoke quietly in McKay's ear. Patting his friend's shoulder, he stood and, when Caldwell didn't move, stepped by the Colonel of the Daedelus into the hall beyond.

Caldwell watched the physicist's still form for a moment longer, then turned.

"You've been here a while."

"Yes, sir," Sheppard replied. Caldwell hadn't asked a question, and so anything more than a confirmation wasn't needed. The older officer noted that the younger stood at ease, feet apart, hands clasped behind him. His body language telegraphed a lazy confidence. It was probably unintentional by now, an automated response carefully honed over the years. Caldwell had to examine the man's eyes to see the sorrow.

"Why?"

"He's a member of my team, Sir." Sheppard's response was textbook, neutral. It was a master of succinctness, giving no allusion to anything more. Perfect answer for a superior officer still considered an unknown quantity.

Caldwell met the steady gaze, not speaking, and Sheppard finally dropped his eyes. "He's my friend," he admitted.

Caldwell leaned on the wall, and it was if not looking at him let Sheppard slump slightly, his worry showing now.

"Think it's..." Caldwell nodded at the book, "helping?"

Sheppard lifted it, stared at it as if he'd forgotten he had it. "We used to debate bits of it," he replied, wearily. "I thought as long as I kept his mind active..." he dropped his arm. "I don't know what else to do. I don't know if anything I can do can help."

His fatigue was palpable, and Caldwell sighed inwardly.

"Dr. Beckett seems to think you're helping. He has his best people on it, trying to ID the virus, but a cure is no good if the patient's dead. He believes you're buying them time."

He saw a flash of appreciation cross the tired face.

"But I think you could be even more helpful."

"Sir?"

"Your teammates will be here shortly. Follow me."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 7 

Elizabeth Weir had seen John Sheppard in many moods, but this kind of hard, cold anger was one she hadn't seen, and could have lived quite happily not seeing.

"Another viral lab," he said quietly, and the menace was simmering below the surface. "And you kept it secret because you thought I was a Goa'uld. Don't you think you were being just a bit too literal with your orders?"

"Possibly also weapons and a ZPM assembly building," Caldwell clarified, ignoring the second part of the comment. "The analysis of the data was, of necessity, terminated before it got that far."

"Here's a thought." The words were measured, precise, getting louder with each syllable. "Let's get someone back analyzing that data. Let's find out exactly where they were, where Rodney was, and what damned bug that damned lab exposed him to!"

She was glad the conference room was relatively soundproof.

"We don't know it was the lab, Colonel. And Atlantis didn't react to him as if he'd been exposed." Caldwell was being as neutral as possible. "He also indicated that the lab itself was set up to initiate lockdown if anything was released."

"Colonel, Rodney's in the infirmary drowning in his own lungs. He got it somewhere, and we are out of options. We have to go back there, right now." The last sentence was addressed to Elizabeth, and she could sense the desperation.

She nodded. "Colonel?"

To his credit, Caldwell didn't hesitate. He tapped his com. "Hermoid, recall the crew. We're heading back."

xxxxxx

With their original wandering course, it had taken five days to get to the base. Directly, and on full power, it had been just hours.

Sheppard had found a corner near Hermoid's station, and settled himself out of the way. Caldwell noticed he'd grown used to Hermoid's appearance, and for his part the Asgard seemed uncommonly placid. In fact, the grey's reaction to McKay's illness had approached honest concern.

The whole ship seemed united by their purpose. Once underway, Caldwell had explained where they were going and why, though the Goa'uld weren't mentioned.

"Colonel Caldwell?"

He looked up. "Yes, Hermoid?"

"We are here, Colonel."

xxxxxx

The two teams split in the centre of the hourglass shaped complex, Radek and his group to the area ID'd as the possible ZPM plant, and Sheppard with Kavanagh and his team to the other area, the labs. Caldwell had joined them, over Hermoid's objection.

"If things do not go as planned, we cannot retrieve you from either lab. They are too well shielded, and neither the rings nor the beam will function. Your only exit is where you enter. It is not sound tactically to have only one exit," Hermoid had concluded, "and the quakes are becoming more severe."

Caldwell had simply nodded. "I'll take that under advisement." he'd said, which both of them knew meant, 'Thanks for the info but I'll do as I please,' but in more formal language.

They proceeded through the glass-walled corridor with caution, hazmat suits rustling. Ahead, Sheppard held up his hand and they stopped just outside a huge double door.

Sheppard opened it.

"Holy cow."

Chapter 8 

The lab was huge. A main hall stretched for what looked like several hundred meters, with rooms branching off. The structure was similar to Atlantis, but rather than being opaque, the walls separating the smaller rooms were transparent. The odd, reddish light filtering through the bank of windows made the eye slide off edges, around corners. It was hard to see exactly how many sub-labs there were.

A raised gallery was to their right, accessed by two sets of stairs. It appeared to overlook the other labs, and contained a blue-silver bank of consoles that stretched its length.

"You know the man, Sheppard," came Caldwell's voice in his ear. "Can you retrace his steps?"

It took no effort to imagine McKay's reaction to something as obviously Ancient and well-preserved as this. He'd been offworld with the physicist enough times that he could almost see his friend, what he'd have done, what he'd have said.

Aloud, he simply said, "Yes, sir." He scanned the room, stopped, reset the scanner and did another pass, trying to ignore the hiss and pop of the re-breather. The suits were a sensible precaution, though the thought made him furious. If the original team had been outfitted with them...if there had been a full blood screen done on the whole crew when they returned rather than relying on the autodoc results and Atlantis's lockdown protocol...

"Need to know, my ass," he muttered, resetting again.

"Sheppard?" Caldwell said sharply. "Comment?"

"Nothing you haven't heard before." His tone bordered on insolence. "Sir." He looked up, seeing Caldwell, a few feet away, square his shoulders, framing for a blistering reply - but the scanner chirped and Sheppard held up a hand. "Hold that thought, Sir." He turned, trying to pin down the source. As he'd thought. "Up there." He pointed toward the gallery.

The ground took that moment to shudder, not a full quake, more a motion like a dog trying to shake off a flea. They were able to keep their balance, but the walls groaned, and bits of ceiling rained down.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let's not take longer than we have to!" Caldwell gestured, and the scout team split, moving rapidly.

Kavanagh and his two techs stayed in the doorway, reminding Sheppard of timid children trying to decide if the water was warm enough. It irked him to have the man here, but they didn't need a doctor on this expedition, and Kavanagh had some knowledge of the ways the Ancient labs worked. He had done some pretty thorough research following the previous outbreak on Atlantis with, Sheppard suspected, his own self-preservation in mind. With Zelenka heading the ZPM team, pickings for this part of the expedition were a bit slim – and there was something to be said for familiarity. He knew Kavanagh.

One group worked their way over to the near staircase, and one headed down the parallel hall to the far end. The others waited in silence until the 'All clear' came over the comms, then followed as the teams headed up the stairs.

"Be easier if there was dust," Caldwell said quietly. "Give us a trail."

"The Ancients systems included some sort of static charge that repels dust, at least in areas where their technology would be badly affected by it," Sheppard replied, following the trace. "Makes cleaning that much easier." He grinned tightly, glancing back. "McKay keeps threatening to patent the process, market it on Earth, and make his million. US dollars, of course."

Caldwell didn't exactly grin. Sheppard wasn't certain the man knew how, but his expression relaxed a bit, reminded of the man they were working to save and the pressure that Sheppard was under, and the tension from Sheppard's earlier remark faded.

"Clear!" "Clear!" The two calls came almost simultaneously, and Sheppard beckoned the three scientists to join them, then faded into the background, holding his P90 loosely, standing against the wall, trying hard not to let his mind wander back to Atlantis.

Caldwell peered over one or two shoulders, then joined him.

"Guess I should learn Ancient," he said conversationally.

"The important words, anyway," Sheppard agreed, and Caldwell could feel the effort it took to chat, to banter. "On and Off are good to start with," he added. "Don't Touch, and Danger."

"Did you see anything like that on the panels?"

Sheppard shook his head. "But I didn't look that closely."

Caldwell nodded. "Bet McKay did, though."

Sheppard arrowed a glance at him, but the truth of it was obvious. He pushed away, approached Kavanagh.

"McKay would have taken all your precautions," Caldwell heard him say. "Try thinking beyond them."

"It is a slightly different dialect." Kavanagh's very voice had been enough to make Caldwell dislike the man - something he tried not to do, but he'd also seen the infamous whining videotape.

Still, the doctor was Sheppard's call. The man knew his job, evidently, and Sheppard wasn't going to let personal discord get in the way of doing whatever he could for his friend.

He could respect that.

In his short time on Atlantis, Caldwell had spent more time watching than talking, seeing how the crazy quilt fit together.

Sheppard and Weir were undisputed as leaders, and they got along, friends as far as it went, but there was always a bit of animosity that came from two strong-willed people that had differing opinions. To himself, he admitted he wouldn't have had an easy time of taking over the mission.

McKay and Weir seemed to have a history - they had an amiable give-and-take that spoke of time working together before. Maybe in the Antarctic.

The two aliens he reserved judgement on - Teyla felt like someone trustworthy, but Ronon was simply an unknown quantity.

Everyone else, even Kavanagh, was at the top of their game.

McKay and Sheppard. He grinned slightly, adjusting his weapon. Sheppard and McKay. Got into more trouble and spent more time in the infirmary than any of the others. Argued and spatted and verbally wrestled at every turn, yet it seemed there was no rancor to it, no animosity.

He'd seen a yelling match over a security procedure in the science labs won by Sheppard in a staff meeting during which everyone else had sat as if struck dumb - he was grateful he'd sat on his impulse to separate the two - the argument and meeting over, McKay had said "Lunch?" to a passing Sheppard, who had grinned, nodded, and replied, "Give me an hour."

The ground shook again, harder this time, and his comm chirped.

"Caldwell."

"Be ready to leave soon," Zelenka said shortly. "Quakes are from here. Subspace containment on ZPM lab is failing. Bad explosion coming."

"Understood. Take your team back at your discretion. We'll speed it up."

He clicked off. "Kavanagh!"

"We've got it narrowed down to the right lab, we just need the sample."

"Make it fast."

Kavanagh paused at the top of the stairs. "I may need a hand."

"I'll go." Sheppard pushed off the wall. "May I suggest the rest of you scram?"

xxxxxx

Even Caldwell had seen the logic. As Sheppard followed Kavanagh, he heard the communication between the others and Daedelus.

"Colonel. Time is not more than minutes," Zelenka cautioned.

They staggered as the ground heaved, and several walls shattered.

"Understood." He followed in Kavanagh's wake as the doctor made for a console. It had a tube extruded from the top, and Kavanagh fitted a cap-like device on the tip of it, pushing a button.

"Drills tiny holes, retrieves the sample, then seals it." Kavanagh said, and Sheppard knew it was as much to keep panic at bay as anything.

They clutched the edge, holding on as the quake came again, cracking the ceiling and floor. The tube shook, but did not break. Not yet.

"Doc..."

"Just a moment more." They stared at the light, blinking steadily red.

And it turned green.

Kavanagh pulled it off, tucked it in his vest, and nodded.

"Good," Sheppard said. "Run!"

xxxxxx

They ran, staggered, fell, and ran again. Made it into the hall, and stopped in dismay.

The access to the central room was gone. Most of the roof had fallen in and the door was completely blocked.

"Hermoid! Can you get a lock?" He reported the situation.

"Not yet. Move as close as you can to the door. Can you get outside?"

Sheppard eyed the walls. The heavy glass-like material had cracked, but was not broken.

"No. Keep tracking us, we're moving closer."

The rumbling was continuous now, and they staggered and wove their way through the heap of rubble.

"I can read you," from the Asgard coincided with Radek's cry of, "It's going!"

Instinctively, Sheppard grabbed Kavanagh, pushed him to the ground, and crouched, curling over him. He heard the explosion, felt the first wave of heat and something plucking at his back. Debris rained over him, something hit him on the head, and then the disorientation of the beam.

And that was all.

Chapter 9 

The ceiling was different.

Sheppard stared at the featureless white surface, and was startled when feet appeared.

"Colonel?"

It was the ship doctor's voice, what was his name…

A face appeared, someone bending over to peer up at him. He realized, with a start, that he was looking through a hole in a bed, lying face down, and the person looking up at him had a mask on.

"You were injured in the blast, Colonel. You'll be fine, though, just a mild concussion. And some cuts on your back. We're stitching you up now, Sir. Are you in any pain?"

He shook his head, or tried to, but his face was pressed into an oval and he suspected he looked ridiculous.

"Good. Doctor Kavanagh told me to tell you that he had scanned and transmitted the information on the virus. We are a couple hours out from Atlantis, and we'll turn you over to Doctor Beckett upon our arrival."

He felt a twinge, grimaced. "Ow."

The face disappeared, reappeared. "Found a couple of fairly deep ones, Sir. I think we'd best put you to sleep for the rest."

He thought about objecting, but by then something warm was spreading through his veins, and he drifted off in mid, "But..".

xxxxxx

It was like he'd never known a time when it was easy to breathe.

He concentrated on each breath like he'd once concentrated on his physics homework, and even that thought threatened to send him back into the dreams…he fought the pull and forced his eyes open.

There were voices nearby. Concentrating, he could hear their discussion.

"…threw himself over Kavanagh…saved the samples…"

He listened harder.

"I heard he was on the table almost the entire trip back."

"They were picking glass out of his back, stitching him up. From what I heard, it was like sewing hamburger."

"Poor guy. He has that hero streak a mile wide, doesn't he?"

It was the ICU tech, talking to someone. Hero streak a mile wide?

He gasped, knowing exactly who it was, and one of the monitors started chirping.

Severn appeared at his bedside, smiling reassuringly.

"You're awake." she said. "That's good. How are you feeling?"

He disregarded the question. "Sheppard."

She glanced over at someone he couldn't see, guiltily.

"I'm sorry, Doctor. I didn't know you could hear."

Growing more agitated, he insisted. "Sheppard?"

"Colonel Sheppard was injured retrieving a sample from one of the planets you visited. Doctor Beckett thinks it might be what infected you."

There was only one planet with anything that would need a sample. He couldn't help the fear. If they'd gone there, and something had gone wrong…

Another monitor started to beep unhappily, and Severn realized she'd left out the most important information.

"Doctor, Colonel Sheppard will be fine. Doctor Hoffman is meeting the Daedelus as we speak, and the surgeon on the ship believes the scarring will be minimal."

He managed to get his breathing under control a bit, and one monitor quieted.

"Certain?" he demanded.

"Yes, Doctor McKay. I am certain. Doctor Hoffman is certain, which is more important. Now please, Sir, calm down. Someone will be in shortly to see you."

He nodded, closed his eyes, concentrating again on his breathing.

Still, though, voices. "…worried about someone else…"

"They're tight, that team. Like SG1."

The comparison pleased him. It made it, somehow, a bit easier. SG1 always triumphed, and they would too.

xxxxxx

"There's no match."

Bewildered, Beckett pushed back from the scope, rubbed his eyes, and looked again.

"What?" Biro leaned over. "Oh, damn. Oh, damn. There's no chance there was an error in the transmission of the scan?"

"No. It was a clean feed. We saw and recorded exactly what they saw and recorded. This isn't the same virus. It's not even close."

She looked, stunned, at Beckett. "What now?"

"I don't know, I really don't." He sat a moment, then scrubbed his face and stood.

"We treat the symptoms, and watch Rodney like a hawk."

Biro nodded. "You?"

He couldn't restrain a sigh. "I have a few people to talk to."

xxxxxx

They convened, by unspoken agreement, in the infirmary at Sheppard's bedside. He was on his side, still groggy from the drugs. Weir, Teyla and Dex were with him, and Caldwell had just arrived when Beckett entered.

He saw their expectant faces. There was no easy way to say it.

"It's not the same virus."

The faces were white, golden, dark, but the expression of shock was universal.

"What?"

"If it wasn't that, what was it?"

Weir and Caldwell spoke as one, and he sighed. "I'll tell you what we know," he said, looking at Sheppard, whose face had tightened at the news.

"The reason it didn't trigger the lockdown is because, as far as we can see, it isn't communicable. We took blood samples and tried to infect mice, and nothing happened. That put us on the track of something that was designed, mapped to affect only one person at a time. Which led us by past experience to a nanovirus. We brought in the pulse generator and exposed Rodney to an EMP. It had no effect."

He rubbed his nose. "The problem is, a lot of viruses act by taking over healthy cells. Usually antibodies develop, but we can't see anything specific here. We got lucky, though, with a sample of tissue from the lung; there were a fair number of what looked like nanobots that had not activated and were free-floating. From that, we took the tissue and ran several sets of tests, looking for differences between different sets of cells, assuming not every cell could have been infected, and assuming there were a limited number of the nanobots, two assumptions I based on our previous experience. I ordered a complete set of tests. They'll be back shortly."

"And what about McKay?" Sheppard's voice was gravelly.

"We're treating the symptoms. We believe if we move him into a hyperbaric chamber it may delay the effect - it's not just causing a fluid buildup, in addition it's acting like carbon monoxide, binding to the haemoglobin and making it impossible for it to carry oxygen. The chamber is a treatment that's hotly debated, but I've honestly run out of alternatives."

There was a pause. "I want to see him."

It was Sheppard. He knew it would be.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 10 

Severn's report was good and bad. On one hand, McKay had woken, however briefly, and seemed to be oriented. On the other, he'd had a severe reaction to the knowledge that Sheppard had managed to get himself damaged, again. That reaction had pushed his already weakened system too far, and Hoffman had made the decision to intubate him.

Sighing - he seemed to be doing a lot of that lately - he moved up and laid a hand on McKay's arm.

There was no response.

"Doctor Beckett?"

He turned, seeing Teyla at the door. He beckoned, and she slipped in, moving to stand at his side. He glanced down, and she read the question in his eyes.

"Ronon is assisting Colonel Sheppard. I wished to see Dr. McKay for a moment."

He nodded. It wasn't a pretty sight. When it took this much energy just to draw air, it had an effect on all the body's systems. Though the machine was doing the work of breathing for him now, his face was gaunt, eyes sunken, the tendons standing in clear relief on his neck…Teyla's eyes filled and she laid one hand on his forehead, almost like a blessing.

"The chamber," she said.

"We'll take him there in a moment. It's a two man chamber with an airlock, just room enough for everything we need in there…"

"It is pressurized?"

"Yes. It means that whoever goes in has to decompress on the way out. I want to go in."

"But you are needed out here, too."

He sighed, knowing she understood how torn he was. "Yes."

A small commotion at the door, and they both turned. Sheppard was in a wheelchair, flanked by Hoffman and Weir, pushed by Dex. At the same time, Severn was beckoning - the chamber was ready.

He nodded, held up his hand a moment.

"He's non responsive. You can have a few moments, but we have to move him soon."

Dex pushed the chair up beside the bed, and they withdrew to a discreet distance.

xxxxxx

"Guess you heard, huh? The trip could have gone better, but Kavanagh actually did pretty well for a change."

Sheppard reached out, ignoring the pull and ache of the stitches, and took the cold hand briefly.

"We're not giving up. Don't you. We need you, Rodney." His throat closed on him, and he swallowed hard.

A monitor began to beep, and Severn looked over at him, then at Beckett.

"Sir, we've got to move him."

xxxxxx

Beckett sat, pulled a report towards him, idly noting the title - it was the DNA match report, and it was heavy going.

At first.

"Hoffman!"

"Doctor?"

Hoffman trotted towards him from the other side of the lab.

"Look at this and tell me what you see. Or - don't see."

Hoffman scanned it, looked up disbelievingly. Scanned it again.

xxxxxx

"What do you mean, they don't match?" Weir put down the coffee, rubbed her eyes, and reached for the report.

"Well, actually, they do match – but they don't. It seems the virus mapped to Rodney's DNA using complementary RNA, and it used this RNA to form a sort of coating around the nanobot-like part of it. It looks like that's the way it escaped detection by the humoral immune system. As far as I can tell, he's had no Th2 response whatsoever. It really quite fasc-" Beckett caught her expression and let his professional enthusiasm fade. But it didn't wipe the smile from his face. If anything, that grew broader. "There appears to be a significant difference though. The virus doesn't have complementary RNA for the modified ATA gene!"

It took her a moment to catch on to what he was suggesting. "But that means…"

"It would appear that Rodney was infected before he received the gene therapy. That's what I'm thinking, yes."

"He was carrying this virus before he got the gene? Before he even came through the gate?" Weir shook her head. "But that means if he got it on Earth - it's not natural, so he has to have been infected sometime when he was working for the SGC. And he got here, and something…"

Understanding made her speechless.

"…caused it to activate - or the absence of something made it virulent again." Beckett finished.

"All the medical records from the SGC are on the database, the Daedelus upgraded our computers when they first got here…"

"We need all the technicians we can lay our hands on. We have to go through everything in the records we have on Rodney, the SGC, Area 51, everyone he worked with; and find out where and when he might have contracted this. Maybe we can punch through to the SGC, once we have it narrowed down, and get some help with a way to fight it." There was an edge of hope in his voice, and she smiled. It had been a while since she'd heard it, and she hoped she'd heard right.

"Pull as many as you need," she said. "Send some of the data up to me, I'll work on it, too."

xxxxxx

"We wish to help," Teyla said, Ronon standing behind her.

Beckett nodded. "I know you do, and I know your ability to read English has improved, but I need you for something else."

He looked down, at Sheppard, who was listening quietly.

"John was sitting with him, before, and it helped. I need you to be on the comm, into the chamber, talking to him. It may not sound like much..." he raised his hand as Dex made to comment, "but for someone like Rodney, keeping his mind engaged is vital."

"I was going to suggest we join him inside," Dex observed, and he sounded a bit put out.

"Oh, lad, that's a kind idea, but the chamber is too small for more than the patient and an attendant."

"The thought's appreciated, though," Sheppard contributed.

Dex nodded. Teyla touched his arm, and they left.

"And where is my research?" The colonel looked up expectantly.

Beckett shook his head. "No research for you, son. You just get to rest."

xxxxxx

He wasn't unconscious. Well, not completely.

Somehow, he'd been more or less aware since hearing about Sheppard, through all the uncomfortable, undignified and unavoidable processes medical science put someone in his dire straits through, and he knew he'd been moved. He'd figured out to where even before the nurse told him, and that bit of knowledge made him feel satisfied. His mind hadn't completely gone to mush.

He wasn't really in pain. Beckett had seen to that, he was lying on an angle that made it easier for the oxygen to find the unflooded alveoli of his lungs, and the constant burning pain of overworked muscles was deadened by some lovely cocktail – clearly, when this ill, he warranted the good stuff. He knew, in an abstract way, that he was intubated, but it wasn't worth worrying about anymore.

The awareness, though, that was something surprising. He found himself fighting to regain it when it drifted, unable to open his eyes for some reason, but hearing in jumps, like a fast forwarded video. He was bored, very tired.

Was he scared? He supposed so, but it was hard to spend the energy to actually feel that emotion. Worry, though, didn't seem to need as much. Sheppard – the man could get into trouble in a paper bag. He had appreciated hearing the familiar voice earlier, reading to him, and he'd wished he could respond – especially when Sheppard took the opportunity to explain in detail one of his own, personal, more outrageous theories.

Heck, he just wished he could respond.

Sheppard would be fine; he had assurances from practically everyone who came in contact with him. He'd long since stopped trying to figure out what it was made them friends. He overthought stuff like that all the time, anyway, he'd been informed. All he'd said, late one night after a particularly silly movie, with Teyla and Ford snoring gently on the couch between them, was that he was surprised that he and Zelenka got along as well as they did.

Sheppard's profound advice – don't overthink it. Just go with it.

He didn't overthink his current situation, either. He really didn't want to die, he discovered, and found it was more of an intellectual decision than the gut-instinct reaction that he had expected. He had far too much to do, still, and it wasn't all about the science this time.

He was bored. He was tired. He was…hearing something?

Teyla and Dex, speaking, he was hearing them as if the three of them were standing around, and he was listening to them chatting. Their subject…he would have laughed if he could have…they were talking, in a soft alto and a deep bass that he secretly envied, about their favourite foods, where they came from, how they tasted…

Ronon and he shared a fascination with food, it was one of their few commonalities, and obviously they knew him well enough to know it would be something that could hold his attention, keep his mind active.

They knew him well enough. It was corny, but his aunt had told him once, 'To make a friend, be a friend.' Accidentally, unintentionally and through various crises, it appeared he had been a friend. He whispered her a silent 'thank you', and mentally settled back to listen.

Chapter 11 

Beckett heard, later, from his head nurse. Wading through records, he was not surprised to find out that Sheppard had flown the coop. He had evidently been aided and abetted by Zelenka, and a purloined wheelchair.

Briefly, he considered going after him, but knew any effort to return him to the infirmary would meet heavy resistance. Normally, that wasn't an issue, but today he just hadn't the energy. Zelenka would keep an eye on the man, and he supposed he'd better arrange some painkillers…he sighed and tapped his comm.

xxxxxx

Sheppard was absorbed in the data, concentrating so hard he didn't hear the step beside him; though in fairness, he thought later, the Asgard was very quiet. Whatever the reason, he glanced up to see Hermoid's face mere inches from his own, gazing calmly. With a yelp, he straightened suddenly - which did nothing for his back - and pushed away from the desk, rolling several feet before catching the wheels.

Hermoid's eyes followed him, curiously.

"Of all the humans, I alarm you most," he said in his direct manner. "Why?"

Sheppard dragged the remaining bits of his dignity around him, grimacing at the pain of the wounds that had been rudely jarred.

"Firstly, you startled me. That's just rude. Secondly..." he looked for a way to say it kindly, without success, "until a year ago I thought little grey men were just a story. A myth, like UFOs."

He could have sworn he saw understanding in the black eyes as he pulled himself back to the table.

"You are a recent arrival to the Stargate program."

Sheppard nodded. "I have a bonus version of this gene," he said. "Without that, I'd still be back on earth, in blissful ignorance of all this." He gestured, unwittingly tugging on stitches, and then hissed at the pain, dropping his hand.

"Ignorance is never blissful," Hermoid contradicted. "And you would not have made the friends you have."

"Yeah, well." Sheppard dry-swallowed a couple of the pills Carson had sent up a few hours ago, in tacit acknowledgement - if not approval - of his escape. He settled himself and began to review the records again.

"You are searching for a way to assist Dr. McKay."

Squashing the impulse to heave a sigh, Sheppard merely nodded, paging through the next set of records.

"And who is assisting you?"

He glanced over at the other laptop. "Radek," he said. "He's getting us some coffee. We don't know exactly what we're looking for, but..." He tightened his lips. "I still think there may be something in here."

"May I assist as well?"

It was unexpected. Sheppard stared at the Asgard, but it merely regarded him calmly, no expectation, no expression. Yet somehow Sheppard sensed it was sincere.

"I would appreciate it, Hermoid," he said finally.

xxxxxx

Radek's coffee had been brought and long ago consumed when Sheppard finally lost it. It might have been the time - past three in the morning. The hopelessness - the records seemed unending. Maybe it was the pain - the pills were having less effect. Whatever the reason, he grabbed a box of discs with his good hand and threw it at the wall, where it broke open on impact. That wasn't enough. He flung the coffee cup, watching as that shattered into oblivion, too. Hermoid seemed a bit startled, but Radek merely looked up, nodded once, and threw his own cup after Sheppard's.

"We need new plan," he said. "Rodney doesn't have time for this page, page, page."

"I agree," Hermoid concurred.

"Well, I'm open to suggestions," Sheppard snarled, leaning back - sitting forward again with a yelp of pain.

Radek glanced at Hermoid, who shrugged. 'It's his decision to be here.' it seemed to say, and Radek nodded slightly, unnoticed by the Lieutenant Colonel, whose string of swearing was winding down.

"We can learn no more from these records. They are too specific; they tell little about the person. Let us consider these beings, how they lived."

"Right. How do you want to do this?"

Hermoid stood. "Let us start at their beginning. Where were the people who worked with Doctor McKay born?"

"Rodney's Canadian," Sheppard said tiredly.

"And where is Canadian?"

Sheppard sighed and put his head on his undamaged arm.

"I will show you," Radek said.

xxxxxx

Sheppard couldn't remember the last time he'd been this tired - or hurt this much. In a way the pain was a help, it kept him reasonably focused, but the images on the screen had begun to blur. He'd felt a bit of embarrassment at first, looking into the intimate histories of people he might know, but the answer had to be there.

Radek and Hermoid were muttering together, and it formed a backdrop to his hazy memories. He tried hard to remember before, the friendship, but his mind wouldn't go back past the last time he'd seen McKay - semi-conscious, woken by the movement, with a machine doing his breathing, as he was being loaded into the hyperbaric chamber.

He'd arranged himself where the physicist could see him, knowing from Carson how much the news of his injury had distressed the man, and been rewarded by a faint smile - he chose to interpret it as such - behind the mask.

Never mind he'd slumped back into the wheelchair, before Hoffman had a chance to do more than steer him down.

It had been almost a day, now, and McKay was still worsening, if more slowly now that he was under the pressure of three atmospheres. And the answer had to be here. The specialists and bio-chemists and bio-engineers and mechanical-whatsit-oligists were working round the clock for a pattern, a commonality, for something that would defeat the nanites. The virus seemed to originate in his lungs, and was as close to invulnerable as Superman's shorts.

He raised his head, listening.

"...in the northern hemisphere, and the other masses are in the south."

"Explain to me the Arctic and Antarctic, please."

"The earth does not spin on a vertical, the axis is tilted. This means the equator is more constant of temperature than the northern and southern halves, and the poles are frozen always."

"It is remarkable life developed at all, let alone intelligent life..." Hermoid trailed off, staring at Sheppard, who had straightened.

"There's something there," he breathed, pulling the laptop towards him and tossing two more pills into his mouth. "Radek, Hermoid, follow this with me."

Radek nodded, slaving his laptop to Sheppard's with a few keystrokes.

"Deaths by a respiratory illness, of people who worked with him."

He keyed the query in, and was shown a list. Seventeen names.

"Ok. Now the dates they worked together, and we'll see if there are any matches."

Seven names remained. Sheppard leaned on the table, willing the pain tablets to work faster.

"Were they in the same lab?" Zelenka asked. Sheppard pulled up their histories, scrolled down.

"They were on the same team. The same damn team!"

Hermoid blinked, reading the detail over Sheppard's shoulder.

"Working on an artifact...it appears to be one of the few failures in Doctor McKay's career. They worked with it for three weeks, at a place designated 51. No useful results were retrieved."

"Seven member team, led by McKay. Eight people total, and he's the only survivor."

Nods from the others. "But they didn't die at the same time, the last one died only a year or so ago." Radek looked at the grid of dates, frowned.

"But neither is there any regularity."

"No, but there may be a pattern." He leaned forward. "Radek, can you plot the team members on a globe? Where they went?"

The Czech nodded, setting to, and Hermoid tilted his head quizzically.

"I don't know," Sheppard replied to the unasked question. "It may be nothing. Let's see."

A moment later, Zelenka sat back.

"Is crude," he cautioned.

"That's fine. Bring up the team, from when it was disbanded, and track them month by month."

Eight dots of different colours appeared, centered over a non-descript part of California.

"One month," Zelenka said, and four remained, three headed east, and one north.

"Run it until the first deaths occur," Hermoid suggested, and the transparent representation of the earth grew coloured veins, reaching around the planet.

"Almost fourteen months," Zelenka observed, and pointed. "Javid and Zora Penter. Husband and wife, with two children. The children did not take ill."

Sheppard winced. "Poor kids."

"The next deaths, please," Hermoid said neutrally.

Zelenka marked the first with two stars, and the veins grew until, "About sixteen months, Petrov Pacheco."

Another star, and, "Twenty two months. Two more, within days of each other. Jack Brook and Sarah Lorenzo."

The colours, few now, seemed centered in the Americas. "Two years ago - Sal Benton. Last year, Ted Truesdale."

The stars gleamed. Sheppard stared at them, absently rubbing his chin.

"Is there a concentration of population around the equator?" Hermoid asked suddenly. "All the deaths occurred there."

"Not a particular concentration, no. Is a more clement part of the world, and sought after for teaching positions and lab positions."

"Unless you get sent to Siberia for months, or end up teaching in Winnipeg in the winter," Sheppard said slowly. "Or posted to Antarctica."

"Boze moi. Cannot be that simple?"

"Check their history. How long were they in warm places before they got sick?"

And when Zelenka showed him the data, Sheppard straightened, the pain of his wounds falling away. He tapped his comm. "Carson. I think we have something."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 12 

They tried not to hover, but the hallway outside the lab was almost crowded.

Beckett was keenly aware of that, running the tests under the most exacting conditions he could devise, as fast as he could.

Finally, though, he stood and nodded once, glanced at the others, and headed for the door.

xxxxxx

"Still don't get it," Ronon said flatly.

"You know nature of blood," Zelenka said. "Plasma, white blood cells, red blood cells, red blood cells carry oxygen from lungs to all parts of the body."

Ronon nodded.

"This virus needs oxygen. It takes from the lungs, but causes the pneumonia. Then it has no more access, takes it from the red blood cells. Like oxygen vampire?"

Dex stared at him blankly, and Zelenka nodded. "I meant, oxygen wraith. Body fights effect of virus – fluid in lungs, fever."

"Got it so far."

They were standing by Sheppard, still in his wheelchair, and Teyla, watching as the airlock was loaded with materials. Coolers, tubes, all sorts of things went in the space designed to hold one person.

"Right. Whoever designed virus knew nothing of winter, change of seasons. Cold made it inert. Warmth, for more than about a year, activated it." He snorted. "Dumb luck McKay. Never went more than eight months in nice weather, always spent three, four months in cold. Virus based in lungs, lungs breathed cold air off and on for weeks, virus stayed asleep."

Ronon nodded. "Still with you." He eyed Sheppard, who was looking more drawn with each moment passing, though still stubbornly remaining. He understood this man more with each day, and found in him someone to trust, to follow.

"So. Virus now very awake, throughout body. Doctor Beckett must kill virus without killing McKay. Cold does it. He will induce hypothermia, make him very, very cold, whole body, and keep him alive doing it. Will take maybe hours…"and he, too, glanced at Sheppard.

"I'm okay," the pilot said, knowing their thoughts. He shifted in his chair, caught his breath.

"Right." Zelenka dragged out the word, sarcasm evident.

"But if this works…" Teyla said.

"McKay will be fine, maybe take some time to get over pneumonia but virus will be gone."

Ronon nodded, satisfied. "Now I get it."

The nurse finished unloading the airlock, and closed her side. With no one in it, the airlock cycled again in seconds, and Beckett stepped in.

"Doc?" Sheppard said, raising his voice a bit.

"I know," Beckett replied, and his voice held conviction. "This will work, John. I know it."

Sheppard nodded, half-smiled. "Tell him…we said 'hi'."

"We've been talking to him for hours," Dex said in an aside to Zelenka, who simply nodded.

Teyla leaned over. "It is a substitute for many things, Ronon. It is not the custom of Earth males to say what they mean." She laid a gentle hand with care on Sheppard's good shoulder, and the smile on his face broadened a bit.

"How do you know where you stand?" It was an obvious question.

"Actions speak, my friend. Actions speak," Zelenka replied. "And is not all Earth males, just ones from decadent West who conceal behind words."

There was a small snicker from Sheppard, and they settled in to wait.

xxxxxx

Beckett had done so many controversial things in medicine since coming to the Pegasus galaxy that he was beginning to wonder about himself. Using hypothermia in a hyperbaric chamber to kill an alien virus was about par for the course. He half-chuckled, moving the cooler closer, then sighed. He did what he had to do. If he didn't, people died. Friends died. If he did, people still died, friends still died. He knew it was a dangerous way to practice medicine, but what alternative did he really have?

Simple cooling blankets and caps wouldn't work, and he had to take his friend down to about 26 Celsius, hold his temperature there and do blood tests and sputum tests until the 'bots began to die. He'd found an experimental alternative. Of course it was experimental. And simulations told him it could be as long as four hours before they were all dead.

At first glance, it was a heck of a choice. The problem with this was that it was a balancing act. Too long and there was the chance of tissue damage, too short and the 'bots would survive. Without the treatment, though, they would lose McKay. And then it wasn't even a decision, put that way. Now, the only consideration was getting the delicate balancing act exactly right.

He pulled the supplies further in and let Shawna out, there truly was room for only one other person in there, and by the time she had decompressed things would probably be over…one way or the other.

xxxxxx

Dex wandered the hall, moving noiselessly from one hallway junction to another. Nighttime on Atlantis was quieter, but never completely still - late night projects kept some up, and there were always the security patrols. He nodded politely to one soldier who raised a hand in acknowledgement, and kept on his quest.

He had made it a point to learn some of the rhythms of the city, especially as it pertained to his team.

He knew, for instance, that at this late hour the Lieutenant Colonel would generally be in his quarters, but likely not asleep. The man he now called commander had a darkness to his soul that he concealed to everyone, or thought he did - shortly after being accepted on the team he'd mentioned it to McKay and the normally garrulous man had refused to talk, calling it Sheppard's story to tell, if he ever chose to. He'd accepted that.

Teyla had certain habits she followed while in Atlantis, though she was suitably unpredictable in the field. He'd observed, once, that predictability was dangerous, to which she'd replied that it was the city of the Ancestors, and if he wasn't safe here - which they weren't - they couldn't be safe anywhere. Which they couldn't. Her point was, though, and he thought he understood, a habit was a small pleasure to her, and her habit of going to bed with the sun was left from her childhood. The ability to indulge it here was special.

And he knew, on any other night, he'd be able to pass McKay's lab even at this hour and the man would be there, working on something. The scientist was able to survive on almost as little sleep as Ronon himself, and it was one of the many things he'd grown to respect about the quixotic genius. His excitable nature and irritating mannerisms belied strength of character that Ronon could appreciate. He had avoided entering the first two times, but the third time McKay had waved something he called a 'power bar' and invited him to try it. After that, he generally stopped in for a few moments, simply to say hello. And occasionally, split a power bar.

On any other night.

He drew a deep breath. That was the problem. It wasn't any other night. Sheppard wasn't in his quarters, but in the infirmary. McKay wasn't in his lab, but in a chamber, gradually decompressing, warming, after a radical treatment that had saved his life. Teyla wasn't asleep.

He turned his steps to the infirmary.

Chapter 13 

She was sitting on a bed next to the sleeping Sheppard, eyes closed, but she opened them as Dex approached.

"How is he?"

She slipped gracefully off the bed, laid one hand on a bandaged shoulder. Sheppard didn't move, sleeping deeply, lying on his stomach, the wounds re-dressed and a generous amount of painkiller flooding his system.

"Knowing Dr. McKay will recover has given him peace," she said, "and he is able to sleep." She looked up. "I am glad to see you."

Dex frowned slightly. "You are…"

"Glad to see you." She smiled, but it faded as he didn't return it. "You're troubled."

"People aren't usually glad to see me. If I do it right, they don't even know I'm there."

She merely looked at him, waiting.

"I…don't know if I should stay." He couldn't say if he meant there, in the infirmary, or there - on Atlantis.

"You are welcome here. You know that." He looked at her helplessly, and she suddenly understood. "You are not used to being welcome."

"I've been running for seven years, Teyla," he said roughly. "I spend a bit of time here, there, and I leave." He glanced at Sheppard. "He was in pain, and I felt compassion. When it seemed as if Dr. McKay was going to die, I felt sorrow. I saw how you mourn your lost friend Ford, and how your team-mates injuries hurt you, and I wanted to help you."

Teyla touched his arm gently, and he jerked away, but stopped.

"My reflexes won't let me relax. I haven't known peace for so long, I'm not certain what to do when I have it."

"Do not leave," she said firmly. "Not that you are bound here, but you are welcome." She emphasized the last word. "You are among friends. You have seen, as I have said, here on Atlantis, no one fights their battles alone - unless they choose to."

He was weary, he suddenly realized, and he sighed. "Right now - I don't choose to," he said, accepting the shift in his life for now, deciding that he'd work out how to deal with it later.

"You are tired." She gestured to the bed. "Sleep, and I will watch over you both."

He hesitated.

"Dr. Beckett will not mind," she said gently.

"I'll have a short nap," he stated, then looked at her. "If I'm needed by anyone, please wake me."

"If there is any change in either of their conditions, I will wake you," she confirmed, knowing what he was really asking.

He smiled, then, a small one, and laid himself down, and closed his eyes, and slept.

xxxxxx

The faint rubber-on-stone squeak roused Dex, but - for the first time in ages - he didn't let the unfamiliar sound bring him to his feet, weapon in hand.

He heard Teyla move to the door.

"Dr. McKay." Her voice held her relief.

"What's left," the scientist replied hoarsely, and another knot of concern Dex didn't realize he had unraveled.

"Is Ronon ill?" That was Weir, and she sounded truly concerned. There was a pause, and he could almost see Teyla thinking.

"The past events were - alarming. He felt the need of company, as did I."

"Sheppard. John?" McKay's raspy voice was closer, on the other side of the Lieutenant Colonel, and the scientist was clearly worried. "Carson..."

"Lie back, Rodney." The doctor's accent was more subdued. That meant, he now knew, that Beckett wasn't particularly stressed, which was a good thing.

"But..."

"Lie back. He's fine. He and Radek and Hermoid were researching the nanovirus, and he overdid, is all."

Overdid. Understatement. They'd tried to talk Sheppard out of walking over to the viewport, and it had given Beckett a turn to see Sheppard's face in the window, but then to see it suddenly vanish was worse. Dex had peered in and given the Scot a nod, catching Sheppard as he collapsed outside the chamber, the back of his shirt covered in blood. Hoffman had been very irate that Sheppard had undone all that good work, and shooed Ronon out while he repaired it.

And they hadn't known, then, if the risky procedure had worked. That news had come later.

"Slide over...good," Beckett said, and there was a susurrous movement.

The shift by McKay triggered a round of coughing, but it held none of the tearing quality Dex remembered. It was logical that it would have woken him, so he opened his eyes and sat.

Weir smiled at him from her place by the bottom of Sheppard's bed, and he gave her a respectful nod, then looked over at McKay, who was protesting the mask.

"McKay," he said. "Co-operate."

"Easy for you to say..." and it would have turned into one of his rambling complaints if he hadn't started coughing again. Beckett slipped the mask on, and McKay lay back again, resignedly.

"A lot easier for me to say than you, apparently." Dex stood and walked over, nudging the Lieutenant Colonel. "Wake up," he said. "We have company."

"Let him sleep..." Weir began, then stopped herself. Dex tilted his head, and she nodded, understanding.

He knew these men had been through a lot together, and he knew how shared danger forged teams from unlikely groups. But these two had an easy friendship that approached true brotherhood, born of mutual respect and affection, and he knew, that if he were Sheppard, he wouldn't want to be asleep when evidence that his worst nightmare had not come true was lying in the bed next to him.

Sheppard peeled an eyelid back, adjusted himself slightly, opened the other, and focused.

McKay raised his eyebrows, grinning behind the mask. "Hey."

"Hey," Sheppard replied, eyes sliding shut again, an expression of content on his face mirrored by the one McKay wore.

It wasn't much, but Dex knew it was all they needed. He stretched, yawning, drawing attention from the two and deliberately breaking the mood before it all got too maudlin.

"It's late. I think we should all go to bed."

"Very good idea," Carson agreed, and escorted Weir to the door. Dex turned to Teyla, who smiled slightly.

"Meet you back here in ten minutes?" he asked quietly. "I saw some chairs in the other room."

She nodded.

xxxxxx

Beckett wandered through his infirmary. It was, for a change, quiet; he'd sent Sheppard and McKay to get some sun, and had taken the time to review the data retrieved from their communication drone in the SGC. Atlantis had immediately passed on what they'd learned about the artifact and its dangers, and a warning, and had opened the wormhole this morning for a followup to find a report waiting for them. What he'd learned had scared him.

The report was straightforward, alarming in its simplicity. The lab on Earth had pulled the artifact from storage, exposed it to several mice, and there had been no effect. However, they had then exposed it to several possible triggers – temperature changes, humidity changes, energy spikes – and the spike had set the thing off. They'd promised to update him on the progress of the disease, and they had promised to work for a cure.

Why didn't he feel better?

How many of those artifacts were out there? If they'd been designed as a biological weapon, and he had no reason to think they hadn't, then how long before something triggered them?

Who designed them?

And – worst of all – he'd been told the artifact had been destroyed. But he wasn't certain that it had been. Not certain at all.

He stopped at the two beds that McKay and Sheppard were occupying during their convalescence. It was a triumph, he knew, and it was a tribute to the people he worked with. And he should be pleased, and he was, at least, that McKay would recover. But talk of the Goa'uld spies; a situation he knew they'd have to address sooner or later; and evidence of the nanovirus…a lot of beings wanted them dead, or slaves.

It was enough to drive a Scot to drink. Instead, he nodded to Shawna, and headed out to find some coffee and conversation.

Chapter 14 

Even limited freedom was a good thing. Sheppard stood to stretch his legs, and leaned over the railing, reveling in the sun on his face.

"I'm telling," McKay grumped.

"You are not," denied Sheppard.

McKay pulled himself out of his own chair and took a couple unsteady steps himself, grabbing the railing like a first-time skater. The worst of it was over, and he was still far weaker than he liked to admit, but getting better.

Sheppard turned, resting an elbow on the top. "You, though, should not be on your feet yet, and I am definitely telling."

McKay snorted, closing his eyes and breathing in the sea air, a long slow breath that was as much a sigh of satisfaction as anything.

"Enjoying yourself?" Sheppard asked mildly.

"Yes, as it happens." McKay straightened a bit, then wavered, and Sheppard took a step to close the gap.

"Schmuck," he said affectionately, wrapping an arm around his friend. "Sit down before you fall down."

Somehow, they made it back before McKay's knees gave out entirely, and Sheppard half-fell into his own chair. They sat in silence for a moment.

"So – um," McKay began, and somehow Sheppard knew what the subject would be. "They – uh – they all died?"

"The seven on your team? Yes, I'm afraid so."

"Uh huh." McKay nodded, not looking at him. "You sent word to destroy the artifact? No one else was infected, were they?"

"Yes, and no."

There was silence for a moment.

"They were nice to me, you know that?"

He shifted, having an idea of what was coming. "Who?"

"Javed and Zora. Kept asking me to dinner, trying to socialize me. I went once. They had kids."

Sheppard kept his mouth shut.

"I don't like kids, but I didn't mind these ones. They were polite. Called me 'Doctor McKay'. And it was only for a couple hours, anyway. They asked me again, a couple weeks later."

"Did you go?"

"Nah. The project was winding down, and I had too much to do." His mouth twisted. "Wonder what happened to the kids."

And that was enough of that. Sheppard had, sadly, enough experience with a recovering McKay to know when to short-circuit a serious funk and bring him back to his acerbic self. He leaned over and whacked him lightly on the shoulder.

"You're in a fine mood, you are." he said.

"Well, considering I spent the last week gasping like a gigged fish; and finding out you'd gone and got yourself turned into sushi didn't help either. I think I'm entitled." McKay cut his eyes sideways, but there was an ease of tension in his face.

Sheppard nodded. "I guess you are. Just don't go abusing the privilege." He held the gaze, though, and said frankly, "I'd have missed you."

McKay's expression lightened, and he smiled slightly. "I'd have missed you too." He mock-frowned. "Now I have to thank, of all people, Kavanagh, for going into harm's way."

"Don't I get a thank you?"

McKay snorted. "My undying gratitude isn't enough?"

"Make it undying for certain, then, and we have a deal." He glanced away, but the smile on McKay's face was broad and genuine, and wiped out the lines of worry and pain completely. The physicist looked up, over his shoulder.

"Found you." It was Dex behind him, and beside him was Teyla.

"Well, you are a tracker," McKay replied, grinning.

"We have come to take you to lunch. There is a small celebration planned." Teyla moved up behind Sheppard, taking the handles.

"Beckett said something about cake." Dex did the same to McKay's chair, and leaned over. "What's cake?"

"Oh, you wouldn't like it," McKay said. "You can give me your piece."

"If you like it, I'll like it. I'm learning that," the runner replied, swinging McKay around and heading inside.

He looked at Teyla, and her joy was in her eyes. She had lost so much, he mused; they all had, and he was glad for all of them that there wouldn't be another loss in their life.

xxxxxx

It was a week later, and Sheppard had taken on the traditional 'pry the scientists out of the lab so they eat at least one decent meal a day' duty. Zelenka had already left, and McKay had finished his 'one last thing' and headed for the coat rack to deposit his lab coat. Idly, Sheppard turned the laptop towards him.

There was an email open. He glanced up at McKay, who hadn't moved from the rack, simply standing there. No nod, no words, but somehow Sheppard knew he was welcome to read it.

It was from a Tahyieh Penter, a note thanking McKay for the kind letter, and expressing appreciation for the college fund he'd set up for her brother's children. It contained an invitation to dinner.

He looked up again, but McKay had turned and was busying himself with his coat. He closed the laptop, and they headed out, no discussion needed.

Somehow, though, he wasn't surprised.


End file.
